


Only Luck

by Weddersins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Chewbacca knows better, Fluff, Gen, Han is a cinnamon roll, and fairly grumpy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:43:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weddersins/pseuds/Weddersins
Summary: Han Solo could get away scot-free. And he should. But he can’t.





	Only Luck

The stars were blinding him. 

Looking from his furry compatriot back towards the window of the cockpit, Han Solo squinted against the brightness of the distant pinpricks of light. Around him, the Falcon shook. His dice clinked together, swaying with the ship’s movement. 

The silence in the cockpit was so thick, he could have cut it with a knife. Chewbacca wasn’t happy with him - Han didn’t need to hear his roars and growls to know his thoughts. The Wookiee punched a button angrily as the ship banked, the green of Yavin 4 disappearing below them. 

The credits in the cargo hold burned a hole in his conscience, even as he relished the freedom they represented. Enough money get that disgusting slug off of his back, and a little besides. The possibilities opened up before them, with a little extra coin - they could move on, fix the Falcon, maybe try to land some legitimate jobs. 

This was a good thing, Han reasoned - so why did it feel like those credits were more blood money than reward?

Chewbacca grumbled under his breath, a fuzzy paw punching in the coordinates for Tatooine into the navacomputer with more force than was strictly necessary. The console shook slightly. He turned to look at Han expectantly, reproach plain in his deep-set blue eyes. 

Han had suddenly had enough. “Look, fuzzball, if you’ve got something to say, cough it up. It’s a long ride to Tatooine and I ain’t suffering through your melodramatics any more than I have to.” He pointed a finger directly at Chewie’s nose. 

The Wookiee roared, anger deepening his guttural language. Han rolled his eyes in reply, dropping his hand to the side. “They’ll be fine.”

Another testy growl, punctuated this time by a huge paw gesturing to the blinding stars.

“Look, this is not our fight! You heard the Princess; even she said to leave.” Han crossed his arms defensively, trying hard not to think of the feisty girl with the wide eyes and ridiculous hair. His leaving had surely not been the intent behind her harsh words, even if her pretty mouth had formed those very syllables. 

Han grimaced - pretty mouth, indeed. He pushed the memory of her doe eyes away, trying to remember them as angry instead of pleading. It was easier that way. 

Chewbacca lowed sadly, gesturing helplessly at the computer. 

“They’ll be fine, Chewie. We don’t have to worry about them - all we gotta do is worry about ourselves. We got enough troubles without taking on theirs, too. Or did you forget the little dust-up we had in Mos Eisley? Because I sure haven’t.” Han tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow at the brown-furred alien, who huffed out a sigh in response. 

“Punch it, Chewie, let’s get moving.”

A shake of his furry head, large arms crossed over his chest while he fussed at Han again. 

“Dammit, pal, I am not heartless. I have plenty of heart. I take care of you, don’t I?”

Chewbacca roared, stating plainly that it was clearly the other way around. 

Han scowled and leaned over the arm of his chair to flick the hyperdrive lever into position. He gave the Wookiee a pointed stare as he did so, challenging him to defy the choice. Chewie only arroo’d reproachfully, turning to watch the stars blur as the ship lurched into hyperspace. 

Han did as well, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms behind his head with a confidence he didn’t truly feel. The blue-and-white streaks colored the interior of the cockpit, reflecting strangely off the golden dice. Despite his best intentions, Han found himself dwelling on Luke and Leia. 

There was nothing further he could do for them, he rationalized - he’d brought them safely to the Rebellion, far beyond what he’d been paid to do. He’d rescued the Princess in the first place, she had never been a part of the deal. And even when he could have abandoned them and gotten away, he’d helped them escape the kriffing Death Star. He’d done enough already. 

Despite his solid logic, Han’s traitorous mind kept replaying the last words Luke had said to him. The kid had been looking up at him, his hope-filled face cast in a strange shadow by the orange flightsuit. 

_Take care of yourself, Han. I guess that’s what you’re best at._

The words hadn’t stung then, when he was sitting cock-sure atop a pile of credits bigger than even he had imagined. But they did now, with Luke far behind him and facing death on behalf of a cause he’d only joined a day ago. 

The kid was impossibly young, still full of the passionate idealism that Han himself had once possessed. With a wince, Han realized that Luke was about the same age that he had been during his ill-fated stint within the Empire. Luke was too young to understand that the world wasn’t the black and white he still imagined it to be - it was a blur of shades of grey, mottled like a mackerel sky. 

Han’s stomach sank into his boots when he realized there was a good chance Luke wouldn’t live long enough to turn cynic before his luck ran out. He was hurtling towards death in a tiny x-wing, faced with a task even his mystical Force surely couldn’t help him to complete. 

There was no Force. There was only luck. 

The Falcon rumbled, and Chewbacca grunted softly. His dice clinked. Han scoffed. The silence persisted, filled internally by the peevish voice of the fiery princess and the naive questions of the dusty farm-boy. 

There was only luck, and Han had just enough for himself and Chewie. No one else. 

Han sighed heavily, running a hand roughly through his hair. Could he really leave those two kids to die, after all the energy he’d spent rescuing them? Even as his mind formed the question, he already knew the answer. 

He’d made it to twenty-nine - he supposed it was as good an age to go as any. 

Besides, if he ended up dead it would be all the same to Jabba. 

“Chewie -” Han started, but before he could finish, the Wookiee was already keying in the coordinates for the Death Star with a self-satisfied rumble. The Wookiee trilled softly, and Han rolled his eyes. “Save it, big guy.”

Chewbacca only stared. The stars became dots of light once more, the rivers of hyperspace stilling into quiet pools for only a moment before the Falcon banked, twisting in space to return from whence she came. 

Han stood, stretching. “I’ll get to the guns, we’re coming in hot. Be ready, pal, I have no idea what we’re flying into.” Chewbacca roared, gesturing to the controls in a vaguely insulted manner. Han rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know - just be careful, alright?”

The Wookiee lowed again, shooing Han to the turrets. As the smuggler turned his back on the stars, a curious noise caught his ear. It almost resembled the satisfied chuckle of that strange old man - but surely that was impossible. 

There was no Force - there was only luck. And Han had plenty of it.


End file.
